


wetsuit

by hobbes



Series: a song and dance across universal lines [1]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbes/pseuds/hobbes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't leave me. Not like this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	wetsuit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for creepymcpaintsalot who asked for "Will/Magnus, Out Of The Blue" -- "Wetsuit" by The Vaccines

She doesn’t answer her doorbell and that bothers Will. He knocks, twice in short rapps and then harder again. The door is unlocked he finds as he hastily tries the handle. No one would ever say that Helen Druitt cared about the safety of her household. Then again, no one could ever say much about Helen Druitt at all. She is a glaze to them, a pastel color of one of her landscapes. But then again, Will was always drawn to the pale sky, a soft blue that seemed all engulfing. Helen is like that he thinks. He doesn’t know why. What he does know, is that even someone like Helen wouldn’t just spill paints and leave them on the floor. There is that deep blue poured out like an ocean before him, soaking into the rug. Henry had gotten into it it seemed, cat’s paws trailing around and away. The empty pill bottle resting in the paint however draws his attention and he picks it up, the blues soaking his skin as he wipes away to read the label.

He’s up and running then, shouting for her. “Helen? Helen! Helen, where are you?!” he’s desperate, and she’s not on the first floor, he takes the stairs up two at a time. The door to the master bedroom is ajar and he sees her, crumpled at the foot of her bed. Like she’d not even had the strength to climb all the way up. “Helen!” he says but it sounds strangled. She rolls limply in his arms. His instincts take over then: check for breathing (he can’t quite hear over the rushing in own ears), heart beating (just barely, like it were off in the distance) “Helen, no! You can’t do this!” He links his hands under her arms, lifting and clumsily dragging her into the bathroom. It’s a bruising effort to get her into the shower/tub combonation, turning on warm water, smacking her face lightly. No response. He doesn’t know how many she’s taken. He has to try.

He will not be left in this hell alone. Two fingers are coated in blue, the same blue she used to ruin her paintings. He looks at them and uses the other hand, prying her jaw open and choving them down her throat. If she can vomit them, he can save her. The water has ruined her sweater and pants, his suit will never be the same again. He doesn’t care. “Come on Magnus, you can’t do this to me.”

Will doesn’t even realize what he’d done, just continues to hit the right muscle when—

She makes a gagging, choking noise and Will holds her gingerly as she vaults forward, vomitting up maybe a dozen white pills with what he’s guessed is red wine. It’s a truly humbling noise, and Helen is shivering in his arms, crying though her throat is raw and it doesn’t sound right. He clings tighter and realizes that he is, too. They’re soaked, sitting in her tub clinging to each other.

“You can’t leave me…” he burries his face into her wet hair, appreciating the gentle dampness that smothers. “I don’t know what I would do without you. Don’t leave me. Not like this.”


End file.
